An Evening Of Empathy
by Fififjonka
Summary: Hawkeye is alone and feeling low, having a chat with Charles, a chat that doesn't contain only insults or mockery. R&R, please.


Hawkey was sitting at Rosie's, his arm supporting his head from falling on the desk. Even if he felt low quite often, he hadn't felt so low in a long, long time. B. J.'s departure for a week off didn't help much either.

"Sad when your wife is gone?"

Hawkeye looked up, only to see Charles' mocking eyes.

"Hello, Charles, glad to see you, too. I need to lend some money."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"You must be really desperate to ask _me_ for money. What for?"

"So I could drink myself to the state of total oblivion."

"You mean you're not there yet?"

"Ha, ha, ha," Hawkeye uttered joylessly. Charles sat down to his table eventually, observing him.

"You really look bad, Pierce. Dare I ask what _pierced _your balloon?"

"You wouldn't have a clue."

"Oh, you want me to guess? Fine. The latest issue of Nude Maniac hasn't arrived yet. No? Right, was it something your father wrote in the yesterday mail?"

"No – I mean yes. Wait, you read it?" Hawkeye asked, surprised. Charles shook his head.

"I don't read other people's letters. Unlike _other_ individuals…"

"It happened only a few times," Hawkeye said. Charles narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, that makes it alright, I presume. What's he saying?"

Hawkeye looked at him, hesitating. Charles seemed to be genuinely interested, but then again, he was an excellent actor when it came to pranks. Suddenly, Hawkeye just stopped caring. He needed to spit it out.

"Well, Charles, you're gonna love this, I'm sure. My father wrote me something like I'm old enough to understand the family matters, that he would like to live to see his grandchildren soon and there's no time to waste. What happened to the old man I know?"

"He's _old,_" Charles said. "And that's most probably it."

"What do you mean?" Hawkeye asked. Charles tilted his head on side, playing with his glass.

"I think it's only natural when a parent gets concerned over his child, Pierce. You're not young anymore and he's worried you won't ever settle down. He doesn't want you to stay alone like he is."

Hawkeye was staring at him with his mouth half-opened until Charles looked up at him, frowning slightly.

"What's wrong, Pierce? Have you died already or is it just your brain trying to understand what I said?"

"No, no… I'm just shocked," Hawkeye said.

"By what?"

"Your intelligence."

"Oh, shut up," Charles said with annoyance, getting up and intending to leave but Hawkeye caught his arm, making him stop.

"C'mon, I didn't mean it like that. Sit down. Or would you leave and old, dying man?"

"Gladly, if it was you," Charles retorted. Hawkeye grimaced at him.

"Ha, ha, ha."

"That must be your favourite line, Pierce, let it carve on your tombstone."

"I would, only I've already decided to have there: _died while cockfighting_," Hawkeye said.

Charles snorted, mildly amused.

"I think I'll write my pop a letter tomorrow. I'll make up a wife and a bunch of kids."

"Why don't you write him the truth? That the closest thing to a wife is a fellow with a hideous moustache and you keep a pet cockroach named Larry."

"Larry? _Charlie_, rather, don't you think?" Hawkeye said, ignoring the flash in Charles's eyes.

"I'll think of something to calm him down," he said. "Another drink?"

"If you're paying."

"Of course I am. With your money," Hawkeye said, ordering two more drinks. And another round and another, until he was sitting there singing, the black cloud of depression finally lifting – with the help of one more drink.

"Wow, Charles, I admire your ability to look so noble when balancing on your chair," he said. "You're trying to get up almost an hour already and I'm really rooting for you."

Charles finally managed to raise, swaying lightly. He took his purse out and focused on the money, handing it to Hawkeye afterwards, mumbling: "I think I need some fresh air."

Hawkeye took the purse and slowly made his way to the bar. While he had the purse open, he noticed a small black-and-white picture of a little boy. Puzzled, he studied the photography, which was raising his curiosity.

"Hey, Charles," he said to his friend when he'd found him outside trying to walk through a bush.

"Pierce," Charles gestured him. "I seem to have some difficulties here."

Hawkeye grabbed his arm, dragging him on the path.

"I think it's this way," he said, peeking through the darkness. They staggered on, leaning on each other; the one minute long walk took them almost half an hour. It'd take much less if Hawkeye wasn't constantly falling on his knees.

"I don't understand it," Hawkeye mumbled, confused, when it happened for the third time. "I think there's something wrong with my knees, they turned jelly."

"It's your brain that's jelly," Charles said, trying to get him up and swaying dangerously in the process. Hawkeye started laughing loudly and Charles joined him, leaning against a jeep. Somehow they found the Swamp and Hawkeye collapsed on his cot.

"I've got a question to ask, Charles, and you might find it a bit weird."

"Do you want to know why using a deodorant once a week is not enough?"

"No… I happened to notice a very suspicious picture in your purse. Accidentally, of course. So, would you kindly explain why you carry a photography of a little boy with you?"

Hawkeye gave him a look.

"That's a bit odd, even for you, you know."

Charles's expression changed immediately from the light amusement to anger.

"Shut up, Pierce," he said coldly.

"Now I'm really curious," Hawkeye said, grinning. "He's your secret illegitimate son? Charles Emerson Winchester the fourth? The truth he's the son of a king must never be revealed?"

"I said shut up," Charles said silently, turning away from him.

"C'mon, Charles, I'll keep your secret. Let's pretend it's _my_ son, my father's gonna be completely euphoric."

"Keep your mouth shut, Pierce!" Charles said with anger, glaring at him.

"OK, OK, calm down… No hard feelings…"

He paused for a second, watching Charles with hesitation.

"Are you gonna explain or what?"

Charles was silent, looking straight ahead; almost forgetting Hawkeye was still in the room. Hawkeye didn't try to push him anymore, but he surely was puzzled.

"His name was Timmy," Charles said all of the sudden, his voice quiet.

"He was my brother. He died when I was eight years old."

Hawkeye shook his head with surprise.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"I remember him sitting in my room on the carpet, building a tower with red blocks. He was laughing whenever I walked in. Joyful little fellow…"

Charles paused and Hawkeye heard his voice was overwhelmed, although it was hidden pretty well.

"Funny, it's been so long and I still remember the laugh so vividly…"

Hawkeye coughed, clearing his throat.

"How did he die?"

"Pneumonia," Charles said. "He'd fallen ill after a winter day spent outside. I persuaded mother to let him play with me; he loved throwing snowballs all around. Even today I wonder – if I hadn't been so stupid he might have still been there."

"Don't wonder anymore, he could have got it in a million other ways," Hawkeye said, trying to reassure him. Charles didn't answer, rubbing his eyes, the high alcohol level evidently making the memories even more real. Hawkeye sighed, watching him silently, not sure what to do. He couldn't pretend he didn't see how upset he'd been, though.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Charles. That won't change the past. It's unlikely you'd caused it by wanting to play with him. You were just a little boy, how could you know?"

Charles kept his hand on his face and Hawkeye got up, walking over him.

"Here, have a drink," he said, handing him the glass and squeezing his shoulder. Charles shook his head, taking the glass.

"Thank you," he said. Hawkeye nodded, giving him a hint of a smile and clinking glasses with him. It took Charles a few more minutes to regain his composure but when he did, he gave Hawkeye a long look.

"How come you seem almost tolerable to me right now?"

Hawkeye laughed.

"The drunker you are, the more tolerable I am," he explained. Charles smirked.

"You know what I mean."

"Right, I'll tell you the truth…" Hawkeye said, pausing and looking up at him.

"It's all B.J.'s fault!" he said, pointing at B.J.'s cot. "He makes me do all the bad things! If only he stopped and let me be at peace…"

Charles narrowed his eyes lightly.

"You're unbelievable," he said. A wide smile grew on Hawkeye's face."

"Thank you, Charles, I'm honoured."


End file.
